A touching eulogy
by Engrish Mastar
Summary: A one-shot for a T/D Writing Challenge, involving my interpretation of the quote:"Straight ahead, one cannot go very far". The Professor dies without explanation and Fry is left to write his eulogy for the funeral.


A/N: This is a Futurama One-shot written for a T/D Writing Challenge. Enjoy!

Quote: _"Droit devant soi on ne peut pas aller bien loin." _/ _"Straight ahead, one cannot go very far."_

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A touching eulogy

Fry sat there, his pen not quite touching the paper, except to make small doodles in the corner of the page. He was thinking, and thus his brain hurt.

"Amy," he said to the martian, who was sitting nearby at the circular table, eating 'Admiral Crunch' breakfast cereal, "What do you think were the Professor's best qualities?"

"Well shplah!" she replied. "He gave us job-deserters a job and money in today's cruel world, so it's got to be that he was senile."

"Se – nile..." he murmured, scribbling down a shorthand version of the one word.

Bender walked in, whistling. "Hey, meatbag!" he exclaimed, "You doin' anything tonight? Because I just happened to find a bag which had two tickets to Mutant Blob Wrestling: The Musical!"

"Nah, Bender, I gotta write this damn eulogy for the Professor's funeral, being his oldest living relative, an' all."

"Oh. Well, I'm off to find a hooker-bot to accompany me."

"Wait! Bender, what do you think are the Professor's best qualities?"

"Well, he was too poor to bother stealing anything from -"

"Bender!" shouted Leela, who had been busy reading 'One-eyed monster Monthly'. "Not _everything _in life is about money, y'know."

"I know that" replied Bender, and he sat down and kicked Fry in the shins. "See? I injured Fry and that was completely free."

"I think," said Leela, ignoring Fry's pain, "that it's the fact that the Professor went against the norm and followed his dream of becoming a scientist, and therefore he lived his life to full, inventing many – err – unconventional inventions."

"Hold on! Hold on!" gasped Fry, frantically scribbling on his piece of paper. "Now start again: what was that about money? And where is this 'convention'?"

Leela sighed. "Gimme the damn piece of paper," she said irritably and began writing. "Fry – there's nothing on here except for a doodle and something that looks like 'cnyl'."

"It's pronounced _senile_, Leela," he retorted, snatching the piece of paper from her. His eyes narrowed as he read what she'd written. "Wait a sec: If he didn't use his original 'Toxic Waste taster' career chip, then shouldn't he have been fired into the sun or something?"

"No, Fry," she explained. "You see, if someone abandons their own career chip, then they have to get a new job pretty sharpish, and prove that they have some use to society in some way."

"Oh," said Fry. "Then shouldn't we all be dead right now?"

"No, _globviously_," sighed Amy.

"The sun was made liveable in 2048," said Leela. "People who have been fired there have to start up a new life there. They usually sell condos, tanning booths, sun spots and beauty products made from raw elements used in nuclear fusion."

"But, how can they live there?" asked Fry. His question was followed by much hostility from his fellow crew-mates..

"Don't be daft you red-headed freak, mon," snapped Hermes. "There's no place for rationalists here. Just accept the fact that the sun is liveable and don't question what you hear!"

"Right..." muttered Fry nervously. "So... what else do you think is great about the professor?"

"He hired me!" said Hermes proudly.

"He gave a broke lobster a job and made him slightly less poor. Plus he gave him free, legal garbage!" announced Zoidberg.

"Ahem," spoke a voice that belonged to non other than Cubert Farnsworth, who was leaning on the doorway. "Shouldn't _I _be writing this eulogy? I'm his closest living relative after all, and I am much more intelligent than you."

"Yeah, but you were a big disappointment." smirked Fry 'cleverly'. "I never did anything, therefore I neither disappointed him nor made him proud of me. Check mate!"

"And can you even _write_?"

"Of course I can!"

"I mean more than a few words?"

"Yeah – well – I'm older than you, so I get bagsies!"

"And do you realise that The Professor left me his successor in his will? This company belongs to me, now, and I shall continue his great work. I will invent more useful inventions than him, though. So will you hand over the paper?" He scanned what was written on the paper. "I think Leela's right: it's the fact that my clone _never_ followed the norm, and therefore he spent his life doing what he loved. And he did more than any of you bozos could ever do, including creating a fully functional clone."

"Not _fully _functional," interrupted Fry, with a smirk, "I've seen your diaper draw."

"They're not diapers – they're – they're just big undies! Anyway you're all fired. I shall be in my brand new office if any of you want a job. Bye, losers!"

He left the room and Leela punched the air. "You heard that?" she announced. "He agreed with me! _I'm _off to get a job as a space pilot. Bye, losers!"


End file.
